


Comfort and Joy

by inlaterdays



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlaterdays/pseuds/inlaterdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some shameless fluff for the holidays. A sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490710">Tradition</a> which is a sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486663">A Midnight Clear</a>, but can be read on its own. Just assume an established relationship. Set in the present day, post-IWTB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort and Joy

The house was dark. Completely dark. That wasn't a good sign; he'd actually been invited this year.

Krycek shifted from foot to foot, wavering uncertainly. Even though they'd made their peace long ago (well, two years ago, at any rate), whenever he and Mulder met, Krycek was never quite sure whether he was going to be hugged or hit. Of course, Mulder was still rough with him, even when he was being affectionate, but Krycek rather liked it that way.

He stood on Mulder's doorstep, holding a wrapped present, feeling about as foolish as he'd ever felt, wondering what to do.

Well, first things first. 

He knocked. 

No response.

He rang the bell.

Nothing.

He leaned over to peer in a dark window but couldn't see anything; no sign of life.

There was nothing for it; he'd have to pick the lock. Mulder didn't quite trust him enough to give him a key _yet_ , Krycek added to himself. Good thing he'd come prepared.

It took some time, but he finally managed it. And just in time – it was beginning to rain.

“Not very seasonal,” he complained to the sky, before entering the house.

No one was in the living room – and Mulder had put up the tree, though he hadn't yet decorated it. Boxes of ornaments lay around it in a circle; they'd planned to do this together. So what had happened and where was he? Out for some last-minute shopping? No, the truck was in the driveway and besides, it was Christmas Eve.

No one was in the dining room, or the kitchen.

He was going to have to check the second floor.

Krycek crept up the stairs, making as little noise as possible, when he heard a sound like a muffled buzzsaw. What on earth? 

It was coming from Mulder's room.

And as he got closer he could tell...

...it was coming from Mulder's _bed_.

Krycek heaved a big sigh of relief as he regarded the shapeless lump, quilts piled high, snoring away in the middle of the bed.

“Hey,” he said, poking it. “Hey, you. Have you forgotten that you invited a guest?”

He was just about to poke a third time when a hand snaked out from under the covers and grabbed his wrist.

“Go 'way,” said the lump of quilts. “'M dying.”

“You're not dying,” said Krycek.

“How do you know?” asked the quilts. “You're not a doctor.”

_Ouch._ Krycek flinched. He wasn't, but Scully had been. Even though he wasn't responsible for their breakup – that had happened before he'd reentered Mulder's life – he still couldn't help but feel a pang when her name was mentioned.

At his his silence, Mulder peeked over the top of the covers and saw his face. “...oh shit, Alex, I'm sorry. I didn't mean - “

“It's fine,” Krycek cut him off. What's the matter with you? I thought we were going to decorate the tree. I even got you a present. What are you doing in bed?”

“Feeling like death. I think I have the flu. And hey – how'd you get in? Pick the lock?”

“Yep.” 

Mulder shrugged as if to say, _thought so_. He didn't seem particularly bothered, but then, people used to break into his old apartment all the time.

Krycek put his hand to Mulder's forehead. He did feel warm. “It's probably just a cold,” he said hopefully. “What are your symptoms?”

“Ache all over and feel like my head is going to fall off. Keep coughing and sneezing.” He gestured to the small mountain of used tissues on the opposite side of the bed.

“Bad cold,” Krycek diagnosed. “You should have called me. I shouldn't have come over if you weren't up to company.”

“Meant to call,” Mulder said miserably. “Fell asleep.” He peered up through mussed bangs and looked so chagrined (and so like the Mulder he'd known all those years ago) that Krycek forgave him instantly. Even if he was probably going to catch his cold.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Him, the master spy, in mother hen mode. What a world it was when he was around Mulder.

“Chocolate-covered pretzels. Sunflower seeds.”

“Oh, _that's_ nutritious. I'll go make you some soup or something.”

“Coming with you.”

“Don't you think you should lie down? I – Mulder, _what_ are you wearing?”

Mulder had groggily gotten to his feet and before wrapping a blanket around himself, Krycek had gotten a look at his sweater. He'd apparently gone to bed fully clothed. Mulder looked down.

“You don't like it? It's _festive_.”

Mulder's knitted abomination portrayed bigfoot on a background of kelly green, surrounded by lime green pine trees, and wearing a red Santa hat. It was Mulder all over, and it was hideous.

“Yuck,” Krycek said.

Mulder just laughed, which turned into a coughing fit.

“You should be in bed,” Krycek warned.

“No, I'm coming down with you.”

Krycek, followed by Mulder-swathed-in-a-blanket, clumped down the stairs, then turned into the kitchen. Krycek inspected the refrigerator, while Mulder sat in a chair and sneezed.

“This is deplorable. Have you been living on frozen pizza and beer?”

“Pretty much. That and takeout. There's some soup in that cabinet,” said Mulder, gesturing.

Krycek looked. “Chicken noodle. And there's a month to go before it expires. You're in luck.”

“Oh, I feel soo lucky.”

“Shut up,” said Krycek, heating the soup.

Mulder ate it dutifully, without complaint. 

“Better?” asked Krycek hopefully.

“No,” said Mulder, “But thanks anyway.”

“So now what? Do you want me to leave so you can go back to sleep?”

“No! I mean - “ Mulder said hurriedly, “You're already here, and it's Christmas Eve and all. Now that I'm conscious I'd rather not be alone.”

“So what do you want to do?” asked Krycek, secretly pleased and a little relieved. He'd spent many holidays alone out of necessity but it was not his favorite thing to do.

“Well – I got you a gift too. And we can decorate the tree.”

“You can watch from the couch while I decorate the tree,” Krycek contradicted.

“I will not!”

“You will. You're sick, and you throw the tinsel in clumps.”

“It's easier that way,” Mulder muttered.

“Well, let's move this argument to the living room at least.”

Krycek had left his gift for Mulder upstairs – he ran up quickly and got it, then handed over the cubical box.

“You first.”

Mulder tore off the wrapping in one go (Krycek was an undo-the-tape and fold-the-paper kind of unwrapper, which drove Mulder crazy; he liked to cut to the chase) and blinked at the box. “Portable Planetarium?”

“Yeah,” Krycek said, a little embarrassed. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. “It projects the stars and constellations onto your ceiling. It's a kids' toy, really, but I thought – it was a dumb idea. If you don't like it I can return it.”

“Are you kidding?” Mulder said, holding the box jealously. “This is _cool_. How do we get it to work?”

“You just plug it in.”

“Now you open yours.” Mulder handed over a flat, rectangular box. Krycek had a sinking feeling.

He'd not had time to wrap it, so they didn't have their usual argument over how slow Krycek was.

“Oh – gosh, Mulder.” (Had he just said _gosh_? He honestly had no idea how to react.)

“Isn't it _great_? Hold it up, hold it up.”

Krycek did. It was a green sweatshirt with snowflakes and a UFO abducting a holiday gift in the center. Krycek wondered that Mulder could treat the subject so lightly, considering his own experience, but that was Mulder for you. Predictably unpredictable.

“It's really...something.”

Mulder beamed. “Change into it. I want to see if it fits.”

“I like my black turtleneck just fine.”

“But that's not _festive_. And it would cheer me up,” said Mulder, making puppy eyes and coughing pathetically again.

“All right, all right.” Anything to make Mulder happy. Anything.

“Then we'll decorate the tree!” Mulder called after him.

“Then _I'll_ decorate it!” Krycek shot back over his shoulder.

“We'll see!”

And that was how Krycek ended up ushering in Christmas: drinking stale beer from Mulder's refrigerator, wearing the ugliest sweater he'd ever worn in his life, next to a tree covered with big clumps of Mulder-tossed tinsel, under the artificial stars projected from a child's toy, and with Mulder himself curled up asleep again on his shoulder, snoring loudly.

It was ridiculous, really.

And he was happier than he'd ever been in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Mulder's [sweater](http://laughingsquid.com/a-horribly-distasteful-christmas-sweater-featuring-bigfoot/) and Krycek's [sweatshirt](http://www.ebay.com/itm/like/141479653754?lpid=82) are both real items.


End file.
